Watch your step along the arch of glass.

 

I think about that day, and how quickly I was able to bounce back. Resilient isn’t a strong enough word to describe it. At one in the morning, I was high out of my mind, wearing an off the shoulder black dress that was highly inappropriate among hipster kids who hadn’t showered in days. I was with an ex-boyfriend who didn’t want to be so, he wanted to be more – again – and I was keeping his advances at bay, while keeping very close indeed his generosity and strangely opposite-sex-alluring presence. I had never been so popular with other men as when I was hanging on the arm of my ex-boyfriend.

 

And then he snapped. The coke had finally wrapped itself around his brain and squeezed tight, that light and careless feeling dissipated and the lights all went blue. He loomed in the dark, big and menacing, grabbing at my wrist and twisting it. The other man who was talking to me looked completely torn – does he save this girl he’s only known for ten minutes, step between her and the wild-eyed monster, or does he disappear?

 

This other guy, the poor thing, opted for feigned ignorance. Too cool and too New York to be bothered by something so minor as domestic violence and a pending drug shakedown, he just ordered us another round.

 

My ex-boyfriend said, “Keep ‘em coming, though this slut will probably fuck you anyway.” Naturally, the guy chose this moment to exit.

 

My ex-boyfriend jostled me into a dark corner and demanded I give him anything valuable from my purse. This meant money and drugs. I said no – was I really being mugged right now?

 

It might have been hours or minutes – that’s what happens – but I seem to remember escaping and running through the Lower East Side in vintage pumps and a tight gown. He chased me for awhile and then called obsessively, leaving me dozens of messages ranging, hilariously, from “you slut! I hate you!” to “I refuse to stop caring about you”.

 

At around three in the morning, I ended up at a dirty East Village bar. Seeking solace, I went looking for James and knew precisely where he would be at that time. I found him in the basement, exactly as I thought, long curly hair disheveled from yet another night of drinking himself into a stupor, sucking on a cigarette despite the smoking ban. He held me as I told him what happened and promised to walk me home when I expressed fear.

 

Later in my bed, I came down hard. I knew my ex-boyfriend was sitting outside in his car, so I buried under the duvet and wished I didn’t have a problem – I wished I didn’t have any problems. I wished for the night to be over.

 

In an hour and a half, the night was over. The sun came up as always.

 

Shell-shocked, I got up and dressed. I had coffee and walked to the antiques market. That’s where I met Sam and his chapped lips. He smiled at me and followed me back, said hello while we perused chipped porcelain dog figurines and crushed ladies plumed hats.

 

He asked me on a date. I said yes.

 

I got on the 1 train uptown to go to a roof party. On the way, I met an attractive older woman. She asked me on a date. I smiled and said no, thank you.

 

At the party, I met a man with a camera and a past-looking mustache. He asked me on a date. I said yes.

 

We went out that night. We went out lots of nights, all summer. We played and laughed and had awkward moments and all the things that are fun and confusing about dating. The thing that happened with my ex-boyfriend tiptoed from my head as the days got longer and warmer. My assumed resilience was astounding.

 

Then I went to Denver. Then the motorcycle crashed into my windshield. Then the girl flipped over the hood and lay comatose in the intersection. Then I saw the shoes of the girl; they’d been ejected right off her feet upon impact. Then the driver tried to run from the scene. Then I sat on the curb, wearing the same vintage pumps I’d worn a few months earlier when I ran from the scene. Then I wanted to run away in them again.  Then I knew I wasn’t resilient at all – everything that happened had left my memory, and settled into my bones. Then I went home.

 

Then the accident moved into my rattled brain and began its persistent song in my ears. (It still sings there, a raw and burning sfogato soprano that knocks against my eardrums. It is the song of a lifetime, of a memory I’d sooner forget – a single ringing note that masks all others. )

 

Then, within days – still bruised and buzzing – I met you. You said hi. It was so simple, I couldn’t believe it. I felt saved. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run.

 

You did.